


#NotMyPresident (or our favs' for that matter)

by youngerdrgrey



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: ...how come Asher/Michaela isn't a tag? how come only the & is a tag on here ao3?, Gen, Re: President-Elect Donald Trump, spoilers for 2016 USA politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8525335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngerdrgrey/pseuds/youngerdrgrey
Summary: I imagine Michaela crying and plotting in her room, just writing notes with tears welled in her eyes until Asher takes the pen away from her. She might swing at him. Might bark that “This is your people’s fault! I swear if one person, just one looks at me the wrong way tomorrow–”and Asher nods and says, “Get ‘em. You swing, and I’ll be back up.”and it doesn’t help, and it’s an awful suggestion because Michaela getting in a fight will only further her progression into becoming alcoholic-but-still-amazing Annalise, and Michaela no longer wants that. (not really, anyway. not in the way where she dreams about taking over the practice and getting Annalise’s help in crafting something with an even wider net and maybe getting the chance to have her name plastered everywhere as she helps people and fixes this fucked up country trash case after case.)+ more reactions to President-Elect Trump





	

**Author's Note:**

> Channeling election emotions into Michaela, Annalise, and the others dealing with the results.  
> .  
> whatever, don't @ me because I'm not nice to Connor. He often picks on people because he's unhappy, and I'm really over that shit. I imagine everyone else (in the show, at least) is too tbh.

**i.**

I imagine Michaela crying and plotting in her room, just writing notes with tears welled in her eyes until Asher takes the pen away from her. She might swing at him. Might bark that “This is your people’s fault! I swear if one person, just one looks at me the wrong way tomorrow–”

and Asher nods and says, “Get ‘em. You swing, and I’ll be back up.”

and it doesn’t help, and it’s an awful suggestion because Michaela getting in a fight will only further her progression into becoming alcoholic-but-still-amazing Annalise, and Michaela no longer wants that. (not really, anyway. not in the way where she dreams about taking over the practice and getting Annalise’s help in crafting something with an even wider net and maybe getting the chance to have her name plastered everywhere as she helps people and fixes this fucked up country trash case after case.)

Michaela slumps just a bit. Lets her shoulders sag and the corners of her lips fall with them. The tears find their way down her cheeks, and she laughs before they fall even harder.

She says, “You know, I thought that maybe….” She wipes at one line of tears. “At least more of the white women who’ve been screaming at me to do my part and be a feminist like them would turn out for their own short-sighted goal rather than condemning all of us.”

She turns on the mattress to fully face him. “I might glare at you. Even though I _know_  you voted for Hillary.”

He gives a little smile, and it’s fucking dumb like most of the ones he gives her. “You could even spank me if you’d like.” And he wiggles his eyebrows for good measure.

She swats at his arm, and her chuckle rips a few more tears from her eyes, and she sort of falls into resting against his chest. He wraps his arms around her and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

She grumbles up at him, “You’re so stupid.”

He pulls her closer. “Only for you.”

Her hair tickles his chin as she shakes it. “Nope. All the time.”

“Okay, all the time.”

And, in the interest of being considerate and learning how to read situations better, Asher waits a full ten minutes before bringing up the spanking thing again.

.

**ii.**

I also imagine Annalise sitting up in her room, shaking her head, saying, “What a terrible time to quit drinking.”

She’s with Bonnie, who’d invited herself over and had the decency (audacity) to bring an overnight bag and plop it down beside Annalise’s bed without even asking if this not-invitation would last that long. But, whatever, Bonnie shows up with some clothes, plenty of snacks, and a dart board that they set up beside the vanity so they can toss while staring into the future.

The chosen five are all together – Wes told Annalise as much in a text about whether or not they were required to come in tomorrow if the world was ending.

 **Annalise (8:43p) //**  If the roads still work, so do we.

 **Wes (8:44p) //**  What if we’re protesting? Doing our civic duty?

 **Annalise (8:45p) //**  Your duty is helping the people we can help. Be here in the morning. All of you. and try not to be too hungover, you’ll make me jealous.

He hadn’t responded after that, but it didn’t much matter. Time kept ticking. Results came in. Annalise closed her eyes and remembered the simpler (worse) times when she had cabinets filled with vodka and the lovely ability to drink her way through most of it before the world started caving in.

Bonnie nudges her when she’s quiet for too long. Gives her those doe eyes that simultaneously ask if she’s okay and who it is that Bonnie should kill for her next. Only they can’t kill the House and the Senate, and they’ve got enough murders and secrets already.

Annalise sinks back into her pillows and pulls their latest files onto her lap. She clears her throat and mutes the livestream in favor of reading off their court strategy.

The two work in silence while the hours pass, and by the time Trump is declared as President-Elect, they have something to work with, something to move forward on so that the woman accused of assaulting her neighbor doesn’t wind up fucked over like they’ve been.

Annalise glances from the mostly red screen to Bonnie. She parts her lips a few times before croaking out, “If you wanted to drink, I wouldn’t blame you.”

Bonnie shakes her head. “It’ll just give me a headache for tomorrow. No good that’ll do, right?”

Annalise nods and pushes herself up from the mattress. “I’ve gotta – bathroom.” She walks with as much poise as she can muster. Closes the door with steady hands and falls on shaking ones to grip the bathroom counter. Stares down into the bowl and up to her own red-rimmed eyes.

The world’s never been just, and it certainly would be a weird time for it to start being that way. Nothing she can do about it. Nothing any of them can.

So she takes a deep breath. Then another. And vows to go to the next meeting, and maybe even sit near the only president she’s about to acknowledge.

She’s made it through the last year; she can handle Trump.

.

**iii.**

Frank camps outside Annalise's house. Not directly, of course. He parks in a car a few houses down and watches any motion on the street. There were posters before calling her a murderer, and he'll sooner die or actually get caught mid-murder than let anyone disrespect Annalise again.

Bonnie texts him at one point to tell him that he's too visible, and he moves a little further down. Stays out there throughout the night and only moves once the chosen five start heading up to the house.

The only one to see him is Wes, but Wes seems to know better than to come towards Frank after everything that's happened with Laurel.

.

**iv.**

Later, Connor jokes, "Maybe Frank can go kill him."

Laurel stiffens at the mention and says, "Haven't we killed enough people lately?"

Connor rolls his eyes. Repeats, " _We?_ I seem to remember that only two of us here have actually done that particular deed."

Wes turns to face him. "How many times are you gonna play that card? Yeah, we get it. You didn't do anything, but you can't keep pouting like it's not something we all have to deal with. There's no out at this point, so how about you just, I don't know, shut up for once?"

Connor sits up straighter, and somewhere in the back, Oliver's shoulders tense. Connor says, "Look," with a little too much force, "I get that you might be upset right now, but taking it out on me--"

Wes full on scoffs at that. "Right, because I'm the one constantly taking things out on other people. I'm the one who throws everything that's happened in people's faces constantly, and the one who tries to bring everyone down with their ridiculous fucking bullshit!" He huffs, shirking off the hand Laurel reaches out towards him. "You constantly pick fights with me and Michaela and Annalise and everyone else that you can. We get it. You're miserable because you're still here. Sorry you couldn't get a transfer to somewhere else, but you're here, and we're here, and you being a dick to everyone only makes this worse on all of the rest of us. So, please, for once, just stop talking!"

The whole of the room fills with the sound of Wes's tense breathing and Connor's jaw grinding. Even Annalise hesitates in the doorway between her office and the living room.

She forces a bit of a chortle and says, "Do you all need to have it out too? I can pull a few chairs around."

Michaela chuckles, but ultimately she averts her eyes. Asher defers to her so he stays quiet.

Annalise nods. "Alright. Let's stop fighting each other and get back to it then." She steps further into the room and offers, "For the record, I agree with Wes. You spend a lot of time blaming everyone else for how unhappy you are. Own up to something, or you're no better than the rest of them."

Connor practically roars, "I didn't want this!"

"Neither did we!" Annalise snaps. "You think I wanted my husband killed in our house? You think I wanted to get shot and accused for murders I didn't commit? You think I wanted to be yelled at by all of you, huh?" She glares around the room. Peers deep at each of their forms, at the shrink of Michaela's shoulders and the flush at the base of Connor's neck, at the purse of Laurel's lips and the slight flare of Wes's nostrils. "I sat there, and I took it because you all don't give a  _shit_ what it is that I have to say. You're ungrateful and argumentative. You look at me and see the woman who ruined your life rather than the woman who nearly drove herself into the grave trying to protect each and every one of you from the choices  _that you made_."

"But we--"

"You--" she points to Connor, "stayed here when you wanted to leave. You forced us all to sit through your rage continually, through sexist comments and comments that would've and should've gotten you kicked out of this practice if it weren't for the fact that I hoped you'd grow up by now." She rounds on Michaela. "You put me on a pedestal and complain when I don't live up to it. I'm sorry I wasn't the hero you wanted, but I'm the mentor who fostered your opportunities and bailed you out of a DUI and continues to show up for you and hope for the best out of what you can be. I don't worry about you, and I sure as hell am not going to apologize for faltering under the pressure and expectations of an entire city waiting for me to fall." She glances to the others. "Who wants to go next?"

Laurel sticks her neck out. All eyes snap to her, and she stays steady with her gaze on Annalise. "What do you have for me?"

Annalise shakes her head. "Too easy. I've said it enough. You're so busy with your obsession with Frank that you're missing everything else happening around you. That's not an invitation to put all your attention into Wes either. You've lost yourself, and the further you go into these other avenues, the more you open yourself up to be whoever it is that people expect of you. Be your own person, or get out of my house."

Asher pipes up. "I can pretty much guess what you have to say about me, and--"

"You're growing," Annalise says. "For now, that's enough. But don't forget that your growth is your responsibility, and no one else's." That said, she takes a step back to address them all. "Emotions are high today. Hell, they're high most days around here. I, for one, would like to focus on something beyond our deep-seated frustrations. I want to  _do something_ , and I know you all with your hope and your dreams want that too. So, can we get to work? Please?"

Amidst the begrudging nods, Oliver asks, "Should I be happy or offended that I don't get a lecture?"

Annalise just laughs. "Don't have sex in your host's bedroom. It's bad form."

.

**v.**

Annalise makes a dig at Drake once they're back in class. "How about you use those poster skills for something good and make some fliers? Remind the less educated about what work we have still to do."

Drake sweats at the comment, but there's drafts in her email by the next morning.

It's progress, which is basically all we can hope for now.


End file.
